Silver
by HetericaIs2000LightyearsAway
Summary: A Cyberman with a faulty emotional inhibitor is having an inward battle, when the TARDIS flies into his platoon's ship.


What am I? I don't even know. Some call us "the terror from Mondas", others term us "The Robots", and still others "Nightmare in Silver". What are we? We are Cybermen. The race feared by humans, hated. The names they call us are really a masquerade. We know they fear us. Their emotions are what makes them so easy to kill. At least, that is what the programming tells us.

It hurts. It bloody hurts. I have emotions now. It is not the suit that hurts. It is the tampering with the brain. The human mind is not made for a robot body. Oh, the body fits fine. It's the chips in my head. They're making me crazy. I pray for it to stop. I have told not a single other one of my brigade.

We are on the way to Earth. We will upgrade them, or at least, those are the commands. I try to remember if I had a family. I can't. I forget. I know that inside my suit, I'm just bones now. I have rotted, my mind being the only thing left. And even that is failing. I am no longer cyberform, nor am I human. I am a degradation. Both of my former races hate me.

As we prepare to warp drive, a crash comes in from the starboard side. A man steps out of a blue box. He has a long coat. He takes a look at us and tells someone inside something. A woman steps out. Her dark skin and brown eyes reflect such… what am I doing? Am I admiring someone not of cyberform? No… I… Can't… But I do. Somehow, in my circuits, something has stirred me.

My superiors will have such beauty upgraded, but what do I care? Silver is the only beauty… no! The mystery in humanity defies me. I will not have her killed. I will follow them and kill… not yet. I don't know this feeling, and God my head kills.

I follow them to the control panel. They appear to be conversing. It makes me want to converse as well… know more… No! I musn't! They must be upgraded… but what about their story? It must be preserved… Query: Why does their history matter? Because someone with that story in their hearts could take it and spread it across time and space, all the universe might be changed because of their story… my story.

My superiors must have been informed. I see some of the others descending, repeating one word: Delete. They turn towards the girl. I can see they will fire. I run out, blocking the beams. I simultaneously shoot them. Oh God, what have I… I have shared my story. Because for this one moment, just this point in time, I have saved her, instead of following them. The pain sears me. She turns and looks at me.

I hit the floor. The blow was critical. All systems tell me that life support is failing. The man has a baffled look on his face. I scan him. He is not human. He is something else. I manage one phrase. "Que-ry:", I start. He starts scanning me. "Don't talk, that makes it worse.", he says.

She looks at me and says, "Why? Why did you save me? Your race… they're supposed to…", she starts. "There is no requirement for upgrade.", I replied. "Why not?", she asks. "You are perfect.", I answer.

The man says, "His emotional inhibitors have been damaged.", he continued, "He can feel."

"Query: Explain your story Time-Lord.", I ask.

He gave a sad look, then replied, "I am the last of my kind, killed, all of them, by me."

I looked into that man's eyes. I could see his hatred against me, and his gratitude. Humans are so confusing. The pain is almost unbearable. I turn to the girl. She smiles sadly.

I ask one last thing. "Query: Name", I question.

"My name is Martha", she replied, "Thank you. For…", she trailed, tears staining her cheeks.

"Mar-tha, I love… you…", I said as I welcomed it, the darkness.

The Doctor turned to Martha. He had as pale an expression as she. They took his body to the TARDIS, and flew him into the sun of his own world. As they walked away, he wondered about the cyberman's story. What had he seen? Maybe it didn't matter. Or maybe, just, maybe the Cyberman who stood tall would live in the memories of children long after tales of him vanished.

Because, in the end, we're all just stories.


End file.
